


The Blood of a Hero

by Qtip



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Past Torture, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-04-10 00:05:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4369535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qtip/pseuds/Qtip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been more than a decade since Solona Amell, Hero of Ferelden, defeated the blight. Barely escaping the wreckage of Adamant Fortress with her life she finds herself at Skyhold, at the heart of the Inquisition, where one familiar face in particular gives her pause. </p>
<p>As the Inquisition readies itself to fight Corypheus, Solona must come to terms with the dark past of her beloved wardens and where that leaves her. Doubting everything she once believed in she finds understanding in an unexpected place, stirring up emotions she’s not ready for.</p>
<p>But time has no mercy for old heroes. Struggling to rebuild the tatters of the wardens once more Solona must face the consequences of the choices she has made for herself - and for the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Adamant Fortress

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all!
> 
> First time writing fanfic in a really, really long time. Tags and whatnot will be added as I go along. Extremely slow burn romance, sorry for those of you who are impatient. ;)

The whispers were weaker now, mere scratches in her head. Was that just her imagination? It seemed odd that it would work that way. The battle she had heard raging somewhere far above her were long gone now but at the time the whispers had almost drowned it all out, hissing like the desert on the cusp of a sand storm. The boom of the ballistas, the cries of soldiers fighting and dying and the unmistakable roars of demons. But it was quiet now, it had been at least a day or two she thought. It was hard to keep track, creeping in and out of consciousness as she had been. She wasn’t sure how long her captivity had been before that either. All darkness deep in the fortress but now light peered into the cracks of her broken cell. The bitter taste of magebane had faded from her tongue but her power was still tantalizingly out of reach. Without her staff and trapped behind a wall of mundane pain and exhaustion she couldn’t so much as light a candle with her will. The chain that held her had fallen with a good chunk of the ceiling, trapping her to the floor. Now she heard… dripping. Somewhere just out of reach one water drop falling after another. Such a waste out here in the desert. If she hadn’t been so thirsty, if it didn’t feel like every bone in her body was broken she could’ve pushed the rock of off her and limped out of there. But all the desperation and anger and need in the world did not aid her now. If she could just get up she could walk out of here. She braced her hands against the stone floor, clenching her teeth and thought of Lord Erimond’s stupid, weaselly face, of spiting him with her survival, and pushed. Someone far away cried out in anguish.

 

  When she came to her face was pressed against the cold stone floor. In the back of her mind the whispering continued, like a thousand voices in a cave. Bouncing, rattling off one another, words just tantalizingly beyond comprehension. She swallowed with effort, tasting dried blood on her lips, the bitter metallic taste made her nauseous and for a moment she thought she was going to throw-up. She was going to die here, probably. Somewhere beyond the broken door she could hear the skittering of gravel. She coughed involuntarily and then groaned as pain stabbed through her ribcage. She heard voices. Actual voices, actual words. She’d always expected that’s how she’d knew how it was the end: she’d finally make sense of them. It felt like relief in a way. And then she felt hands on her shoulders, rumbles of footsteps. Light of fire, she blinked, tried to focus. The weight on her leg shifted, sending pain stabbing through her legs and suddenly it was dark again, blessedly dark.

 

* * *

 

”She’s waking up”

 

The words reached her ears as if through sludge, slowly coalescing into sounds and then only reluctantly imparting meaning, her body heavy and uncooperative. She managed to turn her face towards the sound. It hurt. She blinked, opening her eyes, and promptly shut them against the bright light. Blinking hurt, too. She groaned, which hurt. All of her seemed to be waking up to various states of pain. Well, that had never stopped her before. She put a hand gingerly on her face, shielding her eyes from the sunlight. It felt bruised and swollen beneath her fingers.

”How bad is it?” She asked thickly, not addressing her question to anyone in particular.

”You look like shite,” the voice came from the same direction as before and she blinked, trying to force her eyes to focus, ”but near as I can tell? You got all your teeth, could be worse.”

She smiled weakly at that, running her tongue gingerly around the inside of her mouth. It felt like he was actually right. She moved her hand down from her face. He, the soldier, seemed far above her. Was, in fact, far above her on a brown gelding. Short brown hair blowing in the breeze. Pretty for a boy she thought. Below her she could hear grinding and whirring, she was on a cart. And around her the sounds of other horses, other people.

”Talking like that” she murmured, ”you must be a soldier.” She wasn’t sure he heard her. His attention was on someone up the line, waving them down. She closed her eyes again. It was wearying just being awake. A shadow falling across her face and shielding her from the harsh desert sun prompted her to crack them open a hair again. Man, brown-skinned, pock-scars.

”Here, have some water.” Ferelden accent, gentle hands under her head. Best damn thing she’d ever tasted.

 

She didn’t wake up again until the evening. Night had fallen and she’d slept right through setting up camp. The boy was sitting beside her cot, though his gaze was far-away. On closer inspection she wasn’t sure boy was the right word. He didn’t look like he’d ever grow a beard easily, but it didn’t strike her as having anything to do with youth. She put it aside mentally, she’d think about it later.

”Awake I see,” the boy had turned back towards her. ”How are you feeling?”

”Like shite,” she muttered, parroting his earlier words back at him. That got a chuckle out of him.

”Well, you’re a living piece of shit then. That’s better than most of the people we found back there.” He got up and got something from the fire. She could smell the steaming mug as he turned, broth or soup. Her belly grumbled fiercely in response and suddenly she felt so ravenous it almost made her nauseous. ”I’d help you sit up and give you something real to eat, but Stitches overruled me.” The broth made her feel more awake and she looked around, careful to try and not aggravate, well, anything, in her hurting body. The camp was larger than she anticipated. From the sounds of it they’d brought a full regiment of soldiers.

”Who are you?” she asked, finally.

”I’m Krem, here with Bull’s chargers and some of the Inqusition’s finest.” Bull’s chargers sounded vaguely familiar. A mercenary group of some kind. The Inquisition did not ring any bells however. From the way he said the name it felt like it ought. She decided not to press that particular issue yet. Krem and his company might’ve saved her life. It didn’t mean they were trustworthy.

”And where are we going?”

”Back to Skyhold, in the Frostbacks.”

”The Frostbacks are quite a way’s from Adamant fortress.” She observed carefully. ”what were you doing so far from home?”

”… long story, really. Inquisition forces pulled the fortress down. We came along to clean up the stragglers.”

”And are you bringing all of the survivor’s back to Skyhold with you?”

Krem shook his head. ”Didn’t find many that didn’t walk out on their own power already.”

She quirked her eyebrow at him, ”I’m special then.”

”You’re not exactly in a shape for walking.”

She closed her eyes, she didn’t need reminding. She yawned. They hadn’t talked long and she’d slept she wasn’t sure how long but she was already tired again. She felt Krem move next to her, his body temporarily blocking the heat of the fire.

”What’s your name?” he asked, quietly.

She should’ve made something up, but she was so tired, it just slipped out of her, and he was young, too young to remember what it could mean.

”Solona.”

 

* * *

_Inquisitor,_

_The Chargers were able to tear down what was left of Adamant fortress. The demons could have been a problem, but the support forces Commander Cullen dispatched kept them off our backs quite nicely._

_With the extra time the Inquisition forces gave us, we were able to salvage a few interesting items from the wreckage of Adamant, including and old map of the surrounding area with Grey Warden supply caches marked. We also found a prisoner in the bowels of the keep. She’ll live, if barely. The room we found her in was… interesting. I’ll explain back at Skyhold._  
  
_Lieutenant Cremisius Aclassi_


	2. The place where the sky is kept

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is chapter 2! Thanks for the comments and kudos so far!

The trip to Val Royeaux took about a week. Enough time that her beat-up face started looking less like a smashed tomato and more like a face. And enough time that it was starting to become really hard to avoid answering questions like ”who are you?” and ”why would they want to torture you” and ”why do you look so familiar?”. (The answers, in due order, were ”Just a warden”, ”they’re arseholes” and ”doubt it, but your mother looks mighty familiar”).

Still, she could sit up in the cart and she rather liked the Chargers, as much as it was wise to like anyone who had taken your prisoner. They were an eclectic bunch and apart from Stitches none of them were Ferelden. That helped. Krem had told her a little about the Inquisition, no more than she could’ve learned in a tavern she thought. Still, if she hadn’t seen the hole in the sky herself she wasn’t sure she would’ve believed even half of it, and she had seen more than most. At the time she had been so far out in the approach that no news had reached her of what it meant and then things had gotten messy. And then she had had other things on her mind, so to speak. It was fuzzy in places and she preferred not thinking about it. Instead she complained about getting a headache from the sun enough that Krem relented and got her a big, floppy hat. It looked positively ridiculous, which suited her.

Stitches was changing the bandages on her arms when she decided to broach the subject. Krem was sitting next to them, sharpening his dagger on a whetstone.

”You haven’t told me why the Inquisition marched on Adamant fortress.” She asked Krem as Stitches walked off to get clean bandages. She hadn’t asked before, either. Wondering if he would volunteer the information. So far Krem had volunteered an impressive knowledge of card cheats and some creative insults to her mother but very little of substance.

”And you haven’t even told me who your mother is, if you had one.” Krem retorted easily, ”or if she just climbed out from under a rock somewhere.”

”Now you’re just thinking of where your mother came from.” Solona replied, but her eyes did not leave his face. He chuckled easily, as if the joke had been funnier than it was.

”What about your arms? Why don’t you tell me about that first?”

She looked down at her forearms. Whatever poultice Stitches used it worked well, but her arms were still covered in gashes in a oddly specific sinuous pattern. They were deep and long. Still scabbed over and angrily red. She’d likely have the scars for the rest of her life. ”I thought it was obvious from how you found me, I was tortured.” She said calmly.

”Yeah. It looks like something a little more specific than torture.”

”Oh? Your dalish ’bowman’ tell you that?”

”I’m Tevinter. I’ve seen people carved up for bloodletting before.”

”And?”

”And you’re a mage.” Krem rolled his eyes at the look she gave him. ”And yes. Dalish did tell me that. And I saw what happened to… the other Grey Warden mages.”

She glanced up at him sharply. ”What happened to the other Grey Warden mages?” Silence passed between them for a beat as she held his gaze. The sound of the lapping waves in the background, the smell of the briny air, bright sunshine and gentle wind was all too absurdly peaceful. ”Krem,” she insisted when he did not respond.

”I shouldn’t have brought it up. It’s better if you hear about it from the chief, or the Inquisitor.” He got up, and walked up and across the plank of the ship.

”Krem!” She called after him angrily, but he ignored her, or he couldn’t hear her any longer. With her broken ribs and broken leg she couldn’t follow. She fell back on her pillows, frustrated and worried. _I saw what happened to… the other Grey Warden mages. What happened while I was away?_

 

* * *

 

It had been a little more than ten years since she last came to the Frostbacks. It was odd to think that both Haven and the Temple of Sacred Ashes were gone. She tried to wrap her head around what Krem had told her of the explosion, the Herald’s miraculous escape and, even more worrying, the destruction of Haven by Corypheus. Orzammar at least still lay below the mountains. As safe as anyone could expect it to be. Her mind briefly flickered to King Bhelan. She had put a crown on that man’s head, a man who had probably killed his own brother and executed his closest rival. Her need had been pressing, but had she made the right choice? She’d never know in all likelihood. So much had happened during the two years she had been away. For the umpteenth time she asked herself if she had made right choice. But it had been a worthy cause. She knew that presented with the same information once again she would’ve made the same decision. She would’ve chosen Bhelan again and again. And she would’ve gone west. Her search had been worthy. Yet all of that was driven from her mind when they rounded the final bend in the road and she saw Skyhold for the first time, glinting in the light of the early morning.

”Impressed?” Krem asked, hint of a proud drawl in his voice. She wasn’t sure if he realized it was there. He considered this home.

”Duly impressed.” She confirmed. It had to be old, very old. In the distance she could make out red flags flapping in the freezing cold breeze and little figures moving about the walls. She pulled the hood off the winter cloak she had been lent up over her head again. Perhaps here she would finally get some answers.

The courtyard itself brimmed with activity, the sort of organized chaos she associated with a military campaign. Soldiers on guard patrol, sparring in the ring or assisting what looked like a rebuilding effort milled about with stable boys, craftsmen, merchants and servants of every race imaginable. She took a deep breath and felt her shoulders lower. She felt more comfortable in the centre of this buzz of activity.

Their arrival had been expected. The commanding officers sent the soldiers on their way to the barracks while stable boys whisked away the horses for rub-downs and feedings. Supplies, tents and a number of crates she suspected contained findings from Adamant where carted off by workers overseen by a fussy-looking man with a tablet in his hand. The quartermaster she suspected. And then, there was the matter of herself. Two soldiers, not chargers she noticed, approached Krem a couple of paces off for a brief discussion before all three of them approached where she had been sitting.

”Right then. These two are going to take you to see the surgeon, and then get you settled before your… interview.” Krem informed her. He sounded a tad bored, as if his mind was elsewhere. She nodded and he and the chargers disappeared up the stairs and out of sight. She was certain that someone higher up the chain would be picking Krem clean for details soon, it’s what she would’ve done. 

One of the soldiers coughed, as if to gain her attention. Solona arched an eyebrow at the soldiers. She recognized jailers when she saw them, as polite as they might be. They looked so young and fresh-faced. Early twenties at the most she judged, and the boy flushed a little under her gaze.

”Very well,” she said evenly, ”lead the way then.”

  

* * *

 

The door hadn’t been locked. Not that it was necessary. Even if she hadn’t been injured she would have to be insane to try and escape across the Frostbacks unprepared and on foot. A soldier was stationed outside, in case she ”needed anything”. It was all just a veneer of civility of course, but it was an important one, a signal of good faith or good intentions. The surgeon had been quiet, unfussy. She’d checked over her wounds, changed the bandages and a lay sister had helped her get the worst of the grime and sweat out and had provided her with a clean change, nothing fanciful, which indicated they didn’t expect her to be someone of great import. That was good, it probably meant they didn’t know who she was yet. All in all it was generous treatment for a prisoner.

The room itself was clearly an interrogation room though. It had a table and two chairs and that was the end of it. A narrow arrow-slit, but no windows. Solona had neglected the chair in favour of standing. Her broken leg was not so painful as long as she did not try to walk on it, and the brace helped a lot. She preferred the discomfort to attempting to stand up whenever her interrogator arrived. She stared out of the arrow-slit, though it didn’t show much beyond sky and clouds. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when the door opened behind her. She heard the light rustle of chain mail as the other person moved into the room and the scrape of a chair as the other person sat down in one of the chairs.

”Why don’t you sit.” The voice was musical and light with a hint of the soft slurring of an Orlesian accent, and the familiarity of it washed over her like a wave.

”… Leliana?” She turned and, there she was. Sitting in front of her.

”…Solona.” There was the slightest hint of surprise in her voice, and in the set of her shoulders but her face remained surprisingly neutral. Ten years since they had seen each other last. To meet here, of all places.

”I was not expecting you.” Leliana offered finally. Neither of them had moved in the intervening moments.

”Nor I you.” Solona responded. There were… too many questions, too many unknowns for her to know where she ought to start, where it was safe to start.

“Why… don’t you sit?” Leliana repeated. It had been a command before, but this sounded more like an offer, if a tentative one. Solona moved carefully from the window to the chair, each observing the other carefully. Leliana glanced down at the sheet of paper in front of her, a summary of Krem’s debriefing no doubt, before putting it aside, facing down. ”I think… we have a lot to talk about.” she continued. Solona had missed her. She couldn’t afford to let that affect her now, but she had missed her a lot.

”Why don’t you tell me about your Inquisition, and we’ll go from there?” Solona said, easing herself into the chair. ”I hear it starts with a big hole in the sky.”

They both did and did not fall into old habits. Leliana told her of what she had done since the end of the blight, of her time as left-hand to Divine Justinia and the events that had begun the Inquisition. Solona spoke of the Grey Wardens, of being Warden-Commander of the Ferelden wardens and rebuilding their numbers. Leliana sent for first fruit and drink, then as the hour grew later a light preparation of broth, vegetables and goat kid, orlesian style. They could both see gaping holes in one another’s tales which quietly went unmentioned. Solona did not ask as to the exact nature of Leliana’s work for the Divine, nor did Leliana attempt to ask her about internal warden affairs. They talked about shoes, and old memories. Of sleeping in cold tents smelling like wet dogs. Solona did not ask for Leliana’s personal life and she did not once bring up Alistair. Multiple wax candles had been brought to stave off the waning off the light and they had moved on to aged cheese and a digestive when they finally came round to the actual topic of conversation.

”We need to talk about Adamant.” It was Solona who broached the topic in a lull in the conversation, her finger idly tracing the edge of her glass. Leliana nodded from the corner of her eye. ”I’d like you to start, if you don’t mind.” Solona continued.

”I need to ask you something first.”

”Fair enough.” Solona conceded.

”Where were you?” Leliana’s gaze was searching. ”We looked for you, Cassandra and I, when we decided to start the inquisition but you were gone. Where did you go?”

Solona sighed, and put down her glass. It was a justified question. It was not unusual for Warden-commanders to lead personal expeditions in time of great need. Duncan had done so during the blight. But they tended to ensure that they were reachable. Solona had appointed an acting commander and disappeared for two years without a trace. She took a sip of her brandy, searching for the words. Was it odd that she had never spoken about this with Leliana back then? Perhaps not back then, there had been Alistair and it had seemed like something… private between them. ”The Grey Wardens are connected to the blight, you know this. It gives us supreme strength and endurance and it makes us immune to the blight. It lets us defeat the archdemon. But eventually the taint catches up with us.”

”The calling.” Leliana supplied.

”It shortens our lifespan, considerably. I was searching for a way to end the taint.” she said. Simple enough in theory. Leliana arched an eyebrow. ”After we defeated the archdemon I began researching the blight. Normally defeating an archdemon requires the sacrifice of a warder’s life. By rights I shouldn’t be here. But we found a way. A different way. And I’m not the only… exception. Grand Enchanter Fiona had the taint drawn from her completely. Had to leave the wardens. And there was another warden, Avernus. He lived far longer than any warden ought to be able to. I heard something, not much more than a rumour really but it was all I had to go on.” She leaned back in the chair. By the Maker that thing was uncomfortable. ”It had to be investigated, soon.”

”Time-sensitive?”

Solona nodded, but did not provide any further information.

”But you turned back.”

She nodded again, but remained silent. How could you possibly broach this topic with anyone, when they knew what it meant. ”I… heard the calling.” Her voice was steady. That was good for admitting that you were facing your own eventual death, or madness, or both. She decided not to mention that it was a good twenty years early by most estimations. ”I came back so that someone else could continue my quest.” She did not look at Leliana, feeling fairly proud at how steady her voice was. Inside of her some part of her that she had locked away in the face of torture and more immediate death threats still raged that it wasn’t fair, that she needed more time, that-

”The calling isn’t real.”

Her head snapped up, her eyes narrowing, focusing on the woman in front of her. ”Not real.” she repeated, studiously neutral. She wasn’t sure how to read Leliana’s expression.

”The calling comes from Corypheus, every warden in Orlais has been hearing it.” Leliana continued. Solona stared at her for a moment, struggling to take it in. She set herself aside, momentarily, focusing on the larger implications.

”All of them?” She asked, getting a nod of confirmation. ”They all thought they were… dying, at the same time.” She tried to picture it. A world without wardens, without a means to stop the next blight. Terrifying was not word enough to describe the idea.

”Corypheus is aided by a group of Tevinter mages called the Venatori, one of them, Lord Erimond, convinced Warden-commander Clarel of an… ill-considered idea.”

”We met at Adamant.” Solona confirmed, tight-lipped. ”What was the idea?”

”To raise an army of demons and march on the old roads to kill the old gods before they awoke.”

There was a moment of silence as Solona stared at Leliana. It was, quite possibly, the stupidest idea she had ever heard of. And yet, it made sense. With the whispers in her head just out of reach she could imagine it. The hopelessness, the desperation. The need to do something, anything, to make the inevitable worthwhile.

”Let me guess, there was a catch.” She asked wearily.

”The ritual to summon and bind the demons bound the warden mages to Corypheus will” Leliana confirmed. The suspicion with which she had been treated suddenly made so much more sense.

”And so you attacked to prevent this demon army to fall into the hands of Corypheus.” Solona supplied the end of the story. Leliana nodded. Solona leaned back in her chair, trying to think. That had been the battle she had heard above her at Adamant. Her head was beginning to hurt and her leg throbbed painfully, but there still some questions that needed answering, that she had to ask.

”Leliana,” she began quietly, hesitantly, ”Is there anything left of the wardens?”

She was silent for one painful beat. ”Some,” she responded finally. ”After Clarel died,” Solona winced at that, ”there were no senior wardens present to make a decision. The remaining wardens currently serve the Inquisition in our cause to end Corypheus.”

Small mercies. Part of her was already calculating, thinking of the wardens in Ferelden and how they could rebuild. Always rebuilding. Another part of her struggled with the idea that she wasn’t dying yet. Whispers in her head. Lies, all of it. It was hard to believe. Hard to take in.

”And what were you doing at Adamant fortress?” Leliana inquired, breaking her reverie.

Solona smiled humourlessly, ”I was betrayed.” She said simply. One of the candles flickered and extinguished on itself, sending shadows dancing briefly over the table. ”On the way back I was approached by grey warden mages. They claimed they had important news for me.” She leaned back in her chair, remembering the day. Merciless sun beating down from a cloudless sky. Dog, panting in the heat. ”They were acting strange. I suppose they were already under Corypheus sway.”

”And then..?” Leliana’s face was hard to read, when had that happened? She remembered her singing, and telling tales. Tales with happy endings. ”What happened, Solona?”

”Red templars.” She hadn’t known what they were back then, except that they carried power they shouldn’t have, stolen power that sung of madness.

”Of course.” Leliana tapped her fingers together thoughtfully. ”It makes perfect sense. They took you to Adamant.”

”This… Lord Erimond were waiting for us.” Solona drained her glass. ”He made me an offer.”  

”The report from the Chargers state that they found you at the bottom of Adamant fortress in…” Leliana shuffled her papers, got the report. ”… a bloody ritual chamber and that it looked like you’d been strung from the ceiling. I assume that means you did not take him up on it.”

”I refused him.” Her voice was surprisingly steady. ”They attempted to break me, to concede to the ritual. I assume I would’ve made a fine figurehead if they had succeeded.”

”Did they do anything else, Solona, anything at all?” Leliana fixed her with a quietly intense gaze. The light of the candles flickered across her face, partially obscured by that hood she kept up. It hid her expression, made her harder to read.

”You think they did something to me.” She said finally. ”That I’m not my own anymore.”

”I cannot afford the risk.” She sighed. ”Surely you must see that.”

”Then send for someone.” Solona gestured outward, ”you’ve filled this place with mages. I’m sure one of them can be trusted to… examine me.”

Leliana leaned back in her chair, thoughtfully tapping her lower lip. ”All right, wait here.”

 

* * *

 

She chose to wait standing, again. Leaning against the wall, facing the door this time. She heard them long before the door opened, mainly on account of hearing the mage complaining about lost beauty sleep.

”You hadn’t even gone to bed, Dorian.” Leliana opened the door. ”Now stop complaining. And remember you’re to keep quiet about this”

”Very well, and what nefarious meeting have you deigned to drag me into now, sister nightingale? You already told me it concerned blood magic, pray tell, will there be blindfolds involved? Chains perhaps?”

He was Tevinter, she could hear it in the lilt of his accent, see it in the colour of his skin. His black hair curled slightly and he sported what she was sure was the fussiest moustache she had ever seen. His eyes glimmered with curiosity in the dim light.

”Is this a joke, Leliana?” she asked just a little testily, ”A magister?”

”Your ’friend’ is as cultured and discerning as all Fereldens I see.” He smiled coldly.

”Dorian, be nice. Solona, he is on our side, if something was done to you by the Venatori, who is more likely to be able to tell?”

She had a point, Solona had to concede, grudgingly. ”Very well, old friend. Let’s have this over with.”

”You two may be fully aware of what’s going on. I, however, am going to need just a little more to go on here.” Dorian interjected.

”This is an old friend of mine.” Leliana said, ”she was captured by the Venatori and we need to find out if any… lasting damage was done to her while in their care.”

”Ah yes, the sweet and tender care of my countrymen, of course.” Dorian smiled sardonically, ”And who is this friend of yours?”

”That is not important right now.” Leliana folded her arms, her gaze stony, which did not appear to deter this Dorian at all.

”So the fate of the world hangs in the balance then? Something like that?”

”Leliana has not decided what to do with me yet.” Solona informed him loftily, earning an irritated glance from her friend.

”Very well,” Leliana’s nostrils flared in slight irritation. ”But you will keep quiet about this until I say so. Dorian, meet Solona Amell, Warden Commander of the Ferelden Grey Wardens, Arlessa of Amaranthine, Hero of Ferelden.”  

There was a beat of silence as Dorian stared at her. She had the impression he was not usually lost for words. She actually had to smile at that, it was rather funny.

”Well then,” he was admirably poised, she had to give him that. ”I am Dorian of house Pavus of Minrathous,” He bowed with a flourish. ”And now I am going to be terribly uncouth and ask you to take your clothes off.”

Solona arched an eyebrow at him. He smiled, rather cheekily, at her.

”Normally I would start this off with a bottle of nice wine, perhaps some dinner, but your friend does seem to be rather in a hurry and I need to see these wounds.”

Solona permitted herself to roll her eyes as she bent down to pull off her robes. ”You will owe me for this Leliana.”

Despite his flirtatious banter, Dorian was by all accounts the perfect gentleman. His hands were gentle as they unwrapped bandages and carefully followed the line of deep gouges that traced across her arms and down her back, thoughtfully probing at them with tendrils of spirit, muttering the occasional spell under his breath. She could feel them wash over her body cold and liquidy, like a cracked egg.

”They’ve taken quite a few samples,” Dorian commented, touching lightly at wounds on her back and on her legs. ”Did they say why?”

She remembered those occasions quite vividly. ”Something about testing my resilience to that red lyrium their templars use.” she shrugged, ”they weren’t exactly keeping me up to speed.” Whatever it was, it meant something to Dorian and Leliana, who exchanged a dark look.

”And these gouges,” Dorian tapped one that went up her arm in a remarkably graceful curve pattern, ”that came later I suspect?”  Solona nodded warily.

”These aren’t merely the result of blood-letting,” Dorian explained. ”They’re stabilized and made permanent magically, you see how deep they run?” He held her arm up to the light so Leliana could see, ”They’re meant to be infused with something.”

”Infused with what?” Leliana leaned forward regarding her arm intently.

”Lyrium, in all likelihood. It grants the bearer immense power, but due to the consequences, It’s not commonly attempted.” Dorian looked at her intently as he spoke, she could feel a knot of discomfort twist in her belly. She took a deep, silent breath.

”And those consequences are..?” she inquired.

”The ritual stabilizes the lyrium, makes it safer than its raw form so you can control and direct its power, but the ritual itself is dangerous. If you survive, It burns most of your memories away.”  

”It makes perfect sense.” She traced the path of one of the wounds in her arm. ”Burn away who I am, get a pliant slave and a safe channel for the red lyrium.”

”Indeed. It seems you got away in the nick of time.” Dorian continued, ”These wounds are going to heal, but these pathways are always going to be here. They were made for magic.”

”Meaning?” Lelina cut in.

”Essentially? It’s like walking around with a bucket full of demon kibble.” Dorian straightened up. ”Your friend is safe for now, but…”

”These could be a problem later on.” Leliana finished the sentence for him.

”Lovely.” Solona muttered.

”Can’t you do anything about them?” Leliana asked.

”Just because blood magic happens to be common sport back home doesn’t make me an expert at this.” Dorian informed her somewhat testily, ”I would personally never try something this reckless. No,” he straightened up, ”this is the work of someone who’s used to having a dozen slaves at their disposal and considers other people to be expendable.”

”You’ve made your point.” Leliana sighed, she looked a little tired, ”Can you at least do something about the injuries?”

”I’m not much of a healer, but I should be able to do as much.”

Solona suppressed a yawn as Dorian worked. Healing was exhausting and it had been a very long day already. Leliana had taken to pacing back and forth in the small cell, thoughtfully tapping her lower lip.

”I will speak to the Inquisitor.” Leliana finally said, after shooing a nettled Dorian out the door. ”She’ll want to meet you.”  

”Tomorrow, I assume?” Solona moved experimentally. Moving without wincing with every breath and jolt felt like the most marvelous luxury.

She could see the internal debate taking place behind Leliana’s eyes, weighing pros and cons. She wondered privately how much in charge this inquisitor was.

”Yes.” Leliana concluded. ”I’ve kept you for far too long.” She clapped her hands loudly, twice. Solona did not fail to observe that the soldier who had previously escorted her had now been replaced by a lady’s maid.

”Leliana,” she said as the other woman made to leave. ”I missed you.”

Leliana smiled after a moment. ”I missed you too, old friend.”

 

* * *

 

The room was rather small, but it was most definitely not the room of a prisoner. Silk sheets covered the bed, a bowl of fresh fruit - a mind-boggling luxury this far up the mountains - stood on a small side table. An Antivan carpet and roaring fire kept the otherwise cold stone room warm and toasty. What truly captured her attention though  was the wooden tub filled with steaming water squeezed into room next to the dresser. She was positive that she’d never seen a more beautiful thing. The maid, an Antivan woman named Caterina, helped her strip and wash her hair free of the last couple of months collective grime, dirt and gore. All the while chatting about Skyhold, the weather and other mundane things. She asked no personal questions Solona observed. As Caterina helped scrub her back and wash her hair Solona let her eyes wander about the room, taking silent inventory. A crystal decanter and accompanying glasses sat next to a comfortable-looking arm chair by the small fireplace, Antivan brandy by the looks of it. A dresser with a mirror was squeezed up against the far side of the room.The warm water, feeling clean, and the fire made her feel beautifully relaxed for the first time in what seemed forever. After getting out and getting dry she bid Caterina goodnight with a smile. Servants would come for the tub in the morning.

She listened quietly as the footsteps faded away before tip-toeing up to the door. She listened for a moment, taking in the silence of the sleeping castle before sliding the bolt on the door and heading to bed.


	3. When all the birds are singing in the sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos everyone! I know the pacing is very slow, I hope it doesn't bother too much. I mostly write this as a break from my thesis which is why the update pace and the length of the chapters varies quite a bit.

Her eyes were open. She knew that though the room was pitch dark about her. No light penetrated through the window to her room, it had to be well before dawn. Had something woken her up? Had she had a blight dream? Thoughts were tumbling haphazardly through her head like a band of weary soldiers on a long, forced march, turning her stomach into knots. But she didn’t feel… immediately threatened. There was some light and as her eyes adjusted from sleep the contours of the room came marginally into view. Somewhere just below the level of intelligible she heard whispers like scratches against stone. It wasn’t real, or so Leliana had said, but it was there and with nothing else to distract her it was impossible to ignore. She lay still for a moment, trying to will them away and go back to sleep but finally gave up. She got up, got dressed and slipped out of her room, her boots making a small thudding echo against the stone floor.

 

Skyhold was not quiet per se. A place like Skyhold never truly quieted down. As she slowly made her way down the hallway she saw grooms and maids scurrying past. Some with an arched eyebrow or a quick curtsy, they did not know what to make of her yet. Their job was to wake the banked fires, empty chamber pots for elevated guests and make the bread for breakfast. In an hour at the most the dog watch would be over and morning would officially begin. Soldiers on the morning watch were likely already up and getting dressed. She turned a corner and found herself in a walkway that went ’round a garden. It was small, but beautiful.

 

As she stepped out onto the grass she saw rows of potatoes and peas, and potted plants of elf root. They were protected from the harsh winds in here and probably thrived relatively well. Hardy plants. The ground was wet with dew and wisps of icy fog clung to the ground. Dog would’ve loved it. Her lips habitually twitched, intending to whistle for him, but she stopped herself. Dog was gone. She could still hear his yelp of pain in her mind. He had been getting old, she shouldn’t have brought him on such a long and dangerous journey. But she had wanted the company. Selfish of her. And now he was dead, felled by a red templar blade. She hadn’t thought about him, about anything, yet. She’d been busy not dying, surviving. And now it seemed to suddenly hit her. That stupid, stupid dog would never fetch her a half-eaten cake, or a slobbery, tangled ball of yarn. Or beg for treats, or roll on his back so she could scratch his belly. Her eyes burned and she had to take a slow, wavery breath to calm herself. This was not the time nor the place, either. Not yet at least. Too much to suss out, too many unknowns to settle into place. Her nails dug hard into her palms and she forced her clenched hands to slowly relax. 

 

A Revered Mother with beautiful dark skin, who had been making her own stroll through the garden, had noticed her and made her way over. Solona dipped her head politely.

”You are up early, Revered Mother,” she said by way of greeting.

”Morning prayer begins soon.” she cocked her head slightly to the side, ”Forgive me, I do not think I recognize you.” Her gaze was intent and attentive, her accent thickly Orlesian.

”I just came in from Adamant.”

”Ah, you are one of the wardens then.”

Solona nodded by way of confirmation but did not elaborate. She did not feel like revealing who she was and lying was tiresome.

”You seem… pensive” the other woman offered gently. An invitation to talk. Solona bent down and plucked a twig of lavender off a bush, rolling it between her fingers, breathing in the strong, somewhat prickly scent.

”I was… thinking about my Mabari.” She finally said. ”He died at Adamant.”

”I’m sorry, that must be painful.”

”He was getting old.” Solona deflected, ”I had him for ten years. Now he’s gone. Doesn’t seem right.”

”How so?”

”I had a responsibility towards him, I let him down. Ten years should be rewarded with something better. Retirement, days in the sun.” She stared off into the distance not really seeing the garden anymore. ”He deserved to rest.”

”Perhaps he does now.” The Revered Mother suggested gently.

”Perhaps, but… I miss him. The camraderie, the companionship. It’s all gone now.”

”These things in life are never constant, as much as it pains you now, you will find these things again.”

”It won’t be the same.”

”No. It won’t.” Solona looked at the Mother, who smiled enigmatically. Was that something they taught in the chantry? It was bloody disturbing. ”It won’t be.” the revered mother repeated. ”And as painful as it is, it is as it should be.”

Anger spiked through her chest at that, raw and ragged like a burn wound. ”The way he died was meaningless.” She said, a bit sharper than she had intended.

”Then make it meaningful. Death” she said, holding Solona’s gaze intently, ”should teach you how to live, Warden.”

Solona had no good answer for that and had the uncomfortable feeling they were no longer talking about just a dog. ”Your children are waiting, Revered Mother.” She said, inclining her head. ”I shall take my leave.”

 

When she returned to her quarters she found Caterina standing outside her door, wringing her hands and gazing anxiously in all directions. When her eyes landed on Solona she looked so visibly relieved Solona actually felt guilty. Resolutely she put the conversation with the Revered Mother out of her mind.

”Ah, my lady,” Caterina said in her thick Antivan accent, ”I have had breakfast brought for you. The Inquisitor has asked to see you and her advisors in the war room in one hour.”

”Thank you, Caterina.”

 

After breakfast, Caterina led the way down the stairs and through the Great Hall towards a door to the side, through an empty office and into a corridor, still littered with rubble. Caterina paused before the next door and glanced at Solona.

”Are you ready, my lady?” She inquired.

Solona took a deep, quiet breath. ”Let’s go.” She said easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit short, but I hope you liked it! 
> 
> The chapter title is from "seasons in the sun" by Terry Jacks (though I heard it with Westlife first, growing up in the oughties will do that to you). It's oddly chipper for a song about dying, it seemed appropriate, if not particularly deep. 
> 
>  
> 
> Now who on EARTH could be behind that door..? ;)


	4. Old, familiar faces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos! Enjoy! :)

He wasn’t nervous, Cullen reminded himself, as he studied the war table, checking off the list of allies and numbers of soldiers in his hand against the little figurines that symbolized their troops on the board. When he had first arrived in Haven the little figures had been bronze - symbolizing dozens. Then silver, for hundreds. Now they had begun placing golden pieces on the map. Thousands. Not all directly under his command of course. The majority were commanded by allied lords and ladies but still. He added five more silver horses, their latest addition after a successful negotiation on Josephine’s behalf. If he was nervous it would be because of the army growing almost literally up from under them like a mushroom. The entire Inquisition was bursting at the seams. New soldiers did not just need food and arms and a warm place to sleep. They needed training, direction and leadership more than anything. He had far too many Lieutenants and nowhere near enough sergeants to keep them in line. That was cause to fret. Not over a woman he had scarcely thought about in ten years. She might not even remember him. He wasn’t sure which would be more awkward.

And yet that was all that he had been doing since Leliana had had them hauled out of bed late last night for an emergency council in the Inquisitor’s chambers. Fretting. He remembered with vivid shame not only their last meeting but her last time in the tower. The things he had said…

”Is everything prepared?” Evelyn, the inquisitor, broke through his reverie, sounding equal parts nervous and excited. She had only been a child during the blight, and had grown up with the stories of the Hero of Ferelden. It wasn’t every day she showed the youth behind her steely resolve, but one could be forgiven in meeting a living legend.

”There isn’t much to prepare, Inquisitor” Leliana reminded her gently. ”We are just going to talk.”

”If we could convince her to formally announce for us it would be a great advantage.” Josephine commented, placing her personal marker next to House Weilthalt in Ferelden, indicating ongoing negotiations. ”Empress Celene showed her great favour after the end of the blight.”

Leliana looked as if she was about to respond when a knock came on the door, ending all conversation. Evelyn gestured impatiently for the guard who opened the door. Cullen barely paid heed to the ladies’ maid, one of Josephine’s trusted ones if he remembered correctly, as she made proper introductions. Boots made decisive little thuds on the stone floor as she entered, much more like a soldier than a mage. He wasn't sure what he had expected but much had changed in the the years since he saw Solona Amell last. Dark brown hair was drawn back in a simple braid. An old silvery scar snaked its way across her cheek, dangerously close to the eye. Her nose, always a strong profile, looked slightly crooked, as if she’d broken it once or twice. He remembered a pale, young girl. A gifted student. Yet before them stood a woman and a weathered soldier. It was startling. Her eyes were the same though, dark grey and resolute. They swept across the room, taking in the table and the people around it. Her eyes stopped so briefly at him he wasn’t sure it had happened at all, her features schooled to impeccable stillness. Leliana stepped forward to make introductions, and the brief moment was gone.

”… this is Lady Josephine Montilyet our ambassador-”

”A pleasure.” Josephine smiled.

”… and our Commander I believe you already know.”

”It’s been a long time, Commander.” Her handshake was firm, her tone courteous. He wasn’t sure what else he had expected.

”Ah, yes. So it has.” He should’ve said something more, something more personable, but nothing appropriate came to mind.

”And this is the Inquisitor Evelyn Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste.” Leliana continued. Solona’s even gaze shifted away from him and to the Inquisitor. He watched her curiously as she greeted the Inquisitor. One of these women had saved the world and the other one was trying to. Varric would throw a fit over having missed this. 

This meeting was meant for the Inquisitor and her advisors to ask questions of the Warden. But it was Solona who quickly drew the Inquisitor into conversation, asking her about the explosion, quizzing her on Corypheus, the events at Haven and the rebuilding of Skyhold. As astounding as some of the events the Inquisitor relayed was, time-travelling magic being only one of them, it did not seem to faze Solona particularly. If only one tenth of the tales that circulated about her travels were true she had doubtlessly seen just as strange, or stranger, herself.

”I want your help. Against Corypheus.” The Inquisitor’s frank request shouldn’t have surprised him, but it still felt like his belly dropped out from under him.

”You already have my wardens, and a senior warden to advise you. I’m sure you’re well-served already.” He couldn’t read her expression, had she always been this impeccably calm? But he remembered the shock and horror on her face when Jowan made his escape. Ten years in command would change a person. He had changed himself since then, had he not?

”None who have defeated an Archdemon. The Inquisition needs you and as long as Corypheus and his false calling is out there, you do need us.”

Solona bent over the table, leaning on her hands. He could tell she was thinking, her eyes darting here and there over the map.

”As great as your cause is, Inquisitor, my help is not unconditional.” She finally said, straightening up.

”Then name your price.” The Inquisitor crossed her arms, meeting Solona’s gaze evenly.

”The warden’s in your charge will be transferred back into my command, answerable only to me. As long as Corypheus is alive we will not recruit, however, any of your soldiers who become tainted will be offered the opportunity to take the grey.”

”Sounds reasonable.” The Inquisitor remarked.

”I have one final request.” Solona crossed her arms. ”Once this is over, the Inquisition will help the Grey Wardens rebuild their numbers.”

”Is that wise?” Cullen spoke up for the first time since the beginning of the meeting.

”They’ve become a considerable danger to all of Thedas.” Josephine conceded.

”And if it weren’t for the wardens, commander, there would be no Thedas for them to endanger.” Leliana returned coldly.

”The wardens need change,” Solona continued, ”I do not deny it, but until we find another way to end the blights, the world need the wardens, regardless of risk.”

Cullen turned to look at the Inquisitor. ”It is your call, Inquisitor.”

A small eternity seemed to pass as the Inquisitor regarded Solona intently, who met her gaze unflinchingly. Finally she extended her hand.

”Welcome aboard, Warden Commander.”

 

* * *

 

It didn’t look like much at the moment, Solona admitted to herself, but if the rest of the Inquisition was anything to go by this half-ruin of a battlement tower would soon be transformed into the office and quarters of the Warden-Commander. Soldiers had been assigned the task of cleaning out the rubble, the master-builder to meet with her before the day’s end and she had already written the necessary letters to send with the soldiers who would go to Vigil’s keep in Ferelden for the essentials of the office of the warden commander, as well as some of her personal possessions. It was still in the early afternoon, she shifted her hand on the new staff she’d been given and tried to think of anything else she needed to do, besides speaking to the Commander.

Of all the people she had never expected to see ever again, Cullen Rutherford was pretty high on the list. _I wish I could’ve gone with them… to fight_. His last words on her departure from Kinloch Hold after freeing it from Uldred still echoed in her mind. She remembered the quiet anger and loathing smoldering in his eyes, quickening her steps out of there. She still felt guilty about it, ten years later. All the things he had gone through, all of those men and women dead that she could have saved if she had just gotten there sooner. It would scar anyone to go through such a thing. Her mind briefly strayed to a dark cell in the pits of Adamant fortress and she shuddered involuntarily. Perhaps now she had an inkling of how much. The man in the war room had seemed much more collected though. His handshake firm and courteous, his eyes calm. She pulled a hand through her hair and the crow that had taken up residence in the rafters cawed balefully at her. Ten years was a long time after all. Time for wounds to scab and heal, time for scars to fade. She had no idea what he’d been doing in that time, certainly not how he’d ended up the commander of the Inquisition’s forces. Leliana and someone named Cassandra had recruited him for the Inquisition, and Skyhold was full of mages. Perhaps ten years was long enough to forgive.

A loud creaking sound interrupted her reverie and she turned as the door opened.

“Forgive me, Warden Commander” She turned around to a group of workmen, led by a soldier. it was one of the young soldiers who had escorted her yesterday, how ironic. He looked deeply uncomfortable. “We were instructed to clear this room for repairs, I- I did not mean to disturb you, messere.”

“That’s quite alright, soldier. I was just thinking of what needed to be done here.” She nodded and he saluted as she left. She walked resolutely across the battlement courtyard and knocked three times. No time like the present after all.

The Commander’s office somewhat gave her the impression of an intense restoration effort abandoned halfway through. Leftover lumber was shoved in a corner and she spotted a couple of holes where rotting planks had given way in the ceiling. His working space was in impeccable order though. Reports lay in tidy stacks on the desk, the bookcases, situated in what seemed to be the driest corner of the office looked well-kept. The man himself was sanding a missive to get the ink to dry before looking up at his visitor. He froze momentarily in his movements as he spotted her.

“Ah, hello.” He said, the missive still in his hands.

“Hello.” She returned, feeling equally awkward. She wasn’t even sure what to call him. In Kinloch Hold they would have been Ser Cullen and Mage Amell to one another. What were they now, Commander Rutherford and Warden Commander Amell? That certainly felt like an earful. “I hope I am not interrupting anything.”

“What? Oh, not at all, do please come in.” He gestured with the missive, scattering the sand all over his desk. He did not appear to notice as she made her way further into his office, allowing herself a curious glance around. “What can I do for you?” He continued, hands folded together across his desk. She wondered where he’d gotten the scar over his lip.

“I need to set up contact with the remaining wardens. I understand most of them are still out in the approach.” That was a blessedly practical concern at least. “I expect to maintain contact with the forces in the field through my own chain-of-command eventually but some assistance from the Inquisition's regular forces would be helpful.”

“Certainly, I will set up a dispatch for your use until you’re settled.”

“Thank you.”

And then, awkward silence. She resisted the urge to fiddle with her braid.

“Ser Cullen, I-”

“Please,” he said sharply, holding up his hand, “don’t call me that.” she quirked an eyebrow at his tone. “I’m not a templar anymore,” he continued, modulating his voice somewhat. There was a story there she was sure.

“Then what shall I call you?” She asked, her lips twitching somewhat as she suppressed a smile. “Commander?”

“Well I’m certainly not your Commander.” He leaned back in his chair. “The dwarf calls me ‘Curly’ but,” she actually saw the hint of a wry smile there, “I would prefer if you did not follow his lead.”

“That still begs the question” She reminded him lightly. He chuckled and pulled a hand through his hair.

“So it does. Just call me Cullen.”

“Then you must call me Solona.”

“I- yes.” He amended, _from what?_   She wondered. “I’ll do that.”

Silence fell on the room again, dispelling the brief and comfortable atmosphere of familiarity. Solona studied the light reflecting in the dust from the light coming in through one of the arrow-slits, rather than stare directly at him. What did one say after so long? It wasn’t like they had known each other well back then.

“You… were going to ask me something?” Cullen broke the silence.

“Ah,” She cleared her throat. “Yes. I was wondering if there was a casualty list, for the wardens at Adamant.” She looked him evenly in the eyes and willed herself to be calm about it. Hands loose at her sides. He was the Commander of the Inquisition's forces. If he hadn’t been there in person he had most certainly planned and executed the attack that had obliterated ten years of hard work to build the forces of the warden’s back up. Her hard work. _Clarel didn’t have to give in._ She reminded herself. _She agreed to blood magic, to slaying hundreds of innocents. She forced their hand._

“We are mostly finished with our evaluation of… Adamant.” He pulled his hand through his hair again, rubbing his neck. He always used to do that when he was nervous she remembered. “As soon as I have a complete list I will let you know.”

“Thank you.” She turned to leave.

“Solona,” she turned, her hand on the door. “I, I wanted to apologize.” He didn’t stutter and stammer quite like he used to, no longer the awkward young man she remembered. But he seemed to feel as awkward as she did.

“For Adamant?” she inquired, a little puzzled.

“No, although I wish we didn’t have to- no.” he shook his head. “I wanted to apologize for my behaviour at Kinloch Hold.”

_A young man in templar armour slammed his armoured fist in futile rage against the magical cage that kept him as she walked away from him, towards the stairs to the Harrowing chamber. “Maker turn his gaze on you. I hope your compassion does not doom us all!” His voice was so raw and hoarse, on the verge of breaking. Days without food, without water. Days of… screaming. The only one left. She was glad her back was turned so he couldn’t see the tears welling in her eyes. She couldn’t cry now. She owed it to everyone she had come too late for, to save at least one._

“The things I said were… harsh and unnecessary and,” he swallowed and she had the impression he was steeling himself. “And inappropriate. Without you I would be dead. I was most ungrateful back then and for many years. I hope you can forgive me.”

A short silence followed his little speech and he eyed her nervously, then his his hands. She had to take a deep breath to collect herself. She hadn’t expected to talk about Kinloch Hold so soon. Not ever, actually.

“I’m sorry, too.” She finally said. “For not coming sooner.” And then she opened the door and slipped out, quickly and quietly before she let her mask slip.


	5. The Judgement of Lord Erimond

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god. I never intended to take such a long hiatus. I thought I'd be able to get this chapter done in august before my life got really busy again. (I finished a major project at my job, then my job ended, I finished and defended my master thesis and got a new job. And got a terrible cold. Pretty much concurrently. All of it. I never want to do that again.) Ahem. I was wrong. On the plus side my life is a lot calmer now so hopefully I can resume a somewhat regular updating schedule.
> 
> ***

The sun disappeared early behind the mountain tops of the Frostbacks, even as high as Skyhold, and the sky was turning pale, anticipating twilight. But if one stood just so the last ray of sunshine hit the furthermost corner of the castle’s battlements which Solona had claimed for her own this particular evening. To any casual observer she probably looked like she was watching the soldiers practice. In reality, she was exhausted. It wasn’t like the first couple of days when she could barely ascend a staircase (and Maker, there were so many of them) without feeling ready for a nap. She’d spent the better part of the day getting a feel for the area with Krem and some of the chargers. Plodding through knee-deep snow up and down the mountains and sensing for darkspawn. Blessedly, she hadn’t found anything.  
  
“Soaking up the sun?”  
Solona started and her eyes snapped open, she turned towards the voice, “I understand why everyone here is so afraid of you, Leliana” she remarked dryly, earning her a light chuckle as the spymaster came to stand beside her.  
“If they were not I would be doing a poor job, no?” Her chainmail jingled lightly as she leaned against the wall. Solona should’ve heard her approach by all accounts. Unsettling indeed. “Are you settling in alright?” She continued.  
“Most of the soldiers have stopped gawking when I walk by, I suppose that counts for something.” Solona remarked loftily, earning a small chuckle from Leliana. “You’ve built something quite extraordinary here.” She continued on a more serious note.  
“This is not my doing.” Solona quirked her eyebrow at her, but Leliana persisted. “Without the Herald…” she shook her head. It was rare to see the bard searching for words. “She is touched. Like you were.”  
Solona shook her head. “Not like this.”  
“Like this?”  
Solona waved vaguely at the courtyard, at Skyhold. In the vallies below Skyhold, currently out of sight, the main camp of the largest army since the exalted march on the dales prepared for the night. Hundreds of cooking fires threw their smoke into the sky, sending the smell of stew and the sound of thousands of voices out on the wind. Their glow painted the clouds golden from below. With keeps dotting Thedas from the Storm Coast to the Western Approach the reach of the Inquisition was enormous. The army Solona had gathered to defend Ferelden wouldn’t have held a candle to the roaring fires of the Inquisition.  
“You built all this, did you not?” She asked.  
“Not alone.” Leliana looked thoughtful. “You’re similar, both so stubborn. No sense of fashion either” She glanced at Solona with a wry smile. “The Maker sent you, and then he sent her. You lit up the path we walked, showed us where to go.”  
“Like Justinia did.”  
  
The moment the words left her mouth she wished she could take them back. Solona had never met Justinia, she could only judge her impact on her friend through how she grieved for her. Her old friend revealed nothing. Her pose relaxed and her features measured, but Solona knew her eyes, and they held a grief that ran deeper than the lost thaigs of the dwarves.  
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”  
“It’s all right.” Lelianas gaze was far away. “Cassandra thinks if we had found you or Hawke, you could’ve saved Justinia at the conclave, that none of this would’ve happened.”  
“And what do you think?”  
“Justinia gave everything she had to the Maker, and he let her die.” Her words were clipped and cold. The bard who sang songs and told stories of epic heroes seemed long gone. “I think Justinia would have wanted us to do for the Herald what we did for her. We are her hands, as we were Justinia’s hands.” Her hands clenched softly into fists on the battlements. “I will not fail her like I did Justinia.”  
  
They stood in silence for a moment, watching the soldiers down below finish up their spars. Finally Leliana spoke up, her voice quiet.  
   
“I came to see how you were doing, tomorrow is-  
“I know.”  
“Will you be alright?”  
  
_His hand made a loud sound like the crack of a whip as it landed across her face, making her ears ring. She could taste blood on her lips. Her arms ached where she hung from the ceiling. They’d hung her longer than before she thought. The ache of her arms was a constant burn that had spread from her shoulders to her neck and back. She struggled to keep her shoulders low so she could breathe._  
  
_“You know, I’d expected more from you, more... vision” Erimond’s voice was nasal and grating as he made a slow circle around her, hands clasped behind his back. “You, after all, did save Ferelden from the blight. Surely you more than anyone understands the value of sacrifice.”_  
_She spat on the ground, a bloody, sluggish gob. Maker she was thirsty. “Go fuck yourself, Erimond.” She almost lost consciousness when he backhanded her, his expensive rings cracking the skin of her temple, sending a trickle of blood down her forehead, stinging her eyes._  
  
“I’ll live”  
  
***  
  
It was a long time since she had worn the armour of the warden commander. She had left it behind when she went in search of a cure for the calling, preferring to travel more discreetly. The blue and silver stripes, made from thousands of tiny silverite scales, were the stuff of legends. Few had seen it in real life, but everyone had heard of them. If she was being honest with herself she’d rather not wear it today. She’d rather not go at all. But it was important that people saw her. She adjusted the straps of the chest guard with it’s emblazoned griffon. The reputation of the wardens were even worse now than when they had been banished from Ferelden. They had to see at least one of them stand up for what was right. Strapping her staff on her back she walked out of her office. If she was truthful, it was important to her, too.  
  
The main hall was crowded with curious onlookers, though they parted with relative ease when they saw who was walking past. The Inquisitor had not yet taken her place and Solona chose a spot near the wall but close to the front. A man somewhere in his forties or fifties with black hair and beard glanced at her as she leaned against the wall. He inclined his head in respect.  
“Warden commander.”  
Solona regarded him thoughtfully. He was dressed in a faded gambeson with a sword at his side. “Gordon Blackwall, I presume?” She asked quietly. He matched the description. Odd, that he had not been to see her yet in the weeks since she came to Skyhold.  
“Aye, that’s me.” He sounded a bit wary, and his eyes were focused on the still-empty seat.  
“I expected you to seek me out.” She commented mildly.  
“You didn’t need disturbing at first, and then I was asked to accompany the Inquisitor on an expedition.” His voice was gruff and clipped. She was about to comment when the side door opened and the Inquisitor appeared together with Lady Montilyet and Cullen.  
“Come see me in my office tomorrow” she murmured as the Inquisitor sat down. He grunted acquisition. And then the big doors opened and Lord Erimond was led in.  
  
***  
Despite the fact that their offices lay next to one another Cullen had barely had a chance to talk to Solona since their last meeting, they’d both been so busy. He’d been grateful for it. Apologizing should have made things feel less awkward. Should’ve made him feel less guilty, but it hadn’t really changed anything. She was easy to find in the crowd today though, dressed in full Grey Warden armour. She looked calm, in the same way a soldier awaiting the enemy might look calm he thought, her face passive and her arms folded. As packed as the room was the crowd had given her a little berth, including Blackwall. The inquisitor gestured and the big double doors opened, driving the thought from his mind.  
  
This was the first time he had seen this Lord Erimond. He favoured an elaborate sort of moustache and a small goatee, an impression which was somewhat ruined by not having shaved for a couple of days. Not that it seemed to matter. Despite his rumpled appearance his demeanour reeked of contemptuous superiority as he glanced about the room. His eyes seemed to catch on Solona for a moment. Cullen couldn’t see his expression from where he stood, but Solona’s lips tightened into a hardened line, her eyes dark and unreadable. Josephine spoke up, breaking the moment apart.  
  
“Adamant’s influence continues, Your Worship. I submit Lord Livinus Erimond of Vyrantium, who remain loyal to Corypheus.” She glanced at him as the guards pushed him forward ungently. “We found him alive, offering extreme resistance, likely because the order will ask for his head. In more colourful terms. To say nothing of justice you might personally require for what was suffered in the fade. Lord Erimond was also responsible for orchestrating the kidnapping of the Warden-Commander of Ferelden and subjecting her to lengthy imprisonment and torture.” Cullen glanced at Solona. She was looking at Lord Erimond, but it was as if she was looking right through him. The crowd was whispering in response to Josephine’s revelation. Cullen had no doubt many would make the obvious connection: Had the Hero of Ferelden been free the Grey Wardens would never have fallen for such a treacherous snake.  
The inquisitor leaned back in her seat, her eyes focused on Erimond. “Many places felt the pain of Adamant, you will answer for a great deal.” Her voice was grave, echoing in the absolute stillness in the room.  
Lord Erimond stepped forward, arrogant saunter in his step. “I recognize none of this proceeding. You have no authority to judge me.”  
“On the contrary,” Josephine cut in with an irritated flick of her goose feather quill, “Many officials have communicated that they will defer to the Inquisitor on this matter.”  
“Because they fear,” Lord Erimond drawled, “Not just Corypheus, but Tevinter, rightful ruler of every piece of ground you’ve trod in your pathetic life.” That drew a shocked and outraged murmur from the crowd and Cullen could feel the bile rising in his throat. There was not a shred of humility, or sanity in the man who stood arrogantly before them. “I served a living God,” Erimond continued, fervently, “Bring down your blades and free me from the physical. Glory awaits me.”  
  
The inquisitor seemed unphased by his posturing, leaning thoughtfully on her hand. Propped up against the seat of her throne she looked almost bored, but there was a steely glint of anger in her eyes, if you knew her well enough to look. Cullen glanced over to Erimond, catching a hint of frustration in his eyes. _Of course, that’s what he wants. To inspire fear, to undermine the Inquisition._ He wanted to get a rise out of the Inquisitor.  
  
“Although... most were willing.” She began softly, “there is a group you have wronged more than any.” Cullen glanced over to Solona, who was watching the Inquisitor intently. The inquisitor continued, her voice taking on a harder edge. “Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium, the wardens can have you. Let them take your head if they want it.”  
  
***  
  
Solona’s eyes widened just a fraction in surprise. When she looked back at Erimond he was staring at her, derisive smirk on his face. He chuckled and looked back towards the Inquisitor.  “So you deliver me to the petty justice of what? That mewling bitch?”  
  
“Clarel knew about you, you know.” Erimond continued into the silence. The words blew through her like the shockwave of a fireball.  
”You’re a liar, Erimond. Always have been." Her voice was surprsingly steady to her ears.  
Erimond snorted derisively. “Did you really think I could have hid the _beloved Hero of Ferelden_ in the heart of Adamant Fortress without the Warden Commander knowing? Oh no, Clarel was an excellent representative of your kind. Principled, harsh, unrelenting. She was willing to pay any price necessary to stop the blights. I should’ve listened to her and _put you down_ when she said you were a lost cause.”  
  
The crowd drew a collective breath as eyes focused on Solona. But she barely heard them. As she turned towards Erimond her world narrowed until the only thing she saw was his haughty eyes. His lips moved, speaking, but she didn’t hear him anymore. She reached for the well of power within her. Far in the background she heard the crowd scream as she raised her hand and hurled Erimond down the hallway. He cried out in surprise and she thrillled at the sound of it. Almost absent-mindedly she held her hand out, yanking a staff out of the hand of a young mage, gaping in shock at the rapidly devolving proceedings. A blast of air threw the double doors open. Erimond was scrambling, struggling to get to his feet as she strode purposefully down the hall towards him. She yanked him up by the collar, half dragging his stumbling form backwards down the stairs as he rained cusswords and insults on her. She let his voice get lost in the din of the people screaming and running from the hall, throwing him down the final steps.  
  
It felt like walking through fog, one distant part of her mind observed. The people around her had faded, their shouts sounding muffled and distant. Below her Erimond got to his feet, mud smearing his expensive robes. She was brimming with power stoked with rage, fear, wrath.  
“So there is some bite in you after all” he sneered. “Enough to kill a defenseless man.”  
The smile on her face felt as distant and cold as the people around her. A simple gesture of her hand turned the chains that held him to rust. ”Let us see how much the favour of your so-called god is worth.” She threw him the staff in her hands and unhooked her own from her back. ”Fight.”  
  
  
***  
  
Cullen didn’t see anything but he felt the magic. Solona barely moved yet suddenly Erimond was thrown as if by an invisible hand down the room. _Well, shit._ People screamed as they ran for the doors or ducked for cover under the tables. Solona walked through it all with a measured step, it was almost hypnotizing, and terrifying. Cullen grabbed the arm of the nearest soldier.  
“Get the templars in here, now!” He ordered sharply. Down by the big double doors Erimond groaned as he struggled to get on his feet but he wasn’t fast enough for Solona. She grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and dragged him half standing, half-falling through the doors and down the stairs.  
“Solona!” Cullen called out to her but either she ignored him or didn’t hear him. “Maker’s breath, stop this!” She walked down the steps and the doors slammed behind her.  
  
Cullen swore as he and a dozen soldiers struggled to pull the heavy doors open again. As conflicted as he felt about Templars it was music to his ears when he heard the steady thump of armoured boots coming up the stairs, Cassandra in front. Together they managed to pull the doors back open. It couldn’t have been long but as they stepped out Cullen feared they were too late. Below them in the otherwise empty courtyard Solona blasted Erimond across the courtyard with contemptuous ease. By the looks of his muddied clothes and his bloodied face it was not the first time. Cullen wasn’t sure if he was chuckling or sobbing, or both.  
  
”You… stupid… bitch!” He gasped. Solona flicked her staff, pulling him into the air. ”You could’ve served a living god but you were afraid. You visionless, fucking cunt-” He cut of with a scream as lightning pulsed out of her staff, shocking him. Cullen hadn’t drunk lyrium in months and he could still feel the pull of the magic emanating from her, could feel the thinness of the veil as magical winds blew around them. He thought he could see fingers pressing longingly, hauntingly out of the fabric of reality urging her on on with tantalizing whispers of rage and revenge, feeding on the fear in the air and suddenly he was back in the tower staring at a demon wearing the face of a woman he had fallen in love with against his better judgement. Smiling like a terror and he couldn’t breathe, he sank to his knees, couldn’t think. He heard Cassandra giving the templars commands to advance to suppress her and he should stop them they didn’t understand, they would make it worse, if only he could breathe. And then a hand slipped into his. He looked down surprised and then up to meet Cole’s watery blue eyes.  
”It’s okay.” He said. ”It was a long time ago. They can’t hurt you anymore.”  
”But-” _She will turn._ He wanted to scream. _And I can’t stop her and I will have failed her again!_  
”I’ll talk to her.” And just like that, he was gone, Cullen left staring at his empty hand. He looked back up at the woman below him, gathering a firestorm at the tip of her outstretched staff, templars advancing at her back and then the figure of a young man beside her, slipping a hand into her empty one. Cullen found his voice.  
”Hold!” He bellowed getting on his feet. Cassandra turned her back on Solona momentarily.  
”Commander,” she snapped, ”We cannot let her loose control.”  
”Give him a moment, we have to let him try.”  
”You’re going to let that _demon_ control her?” Cassandra spat angrily. The templars hesitated in their approach.  
”The order is to hold.” Cullen repeated, loud enough for everyone to hear, his gaze bearing down on Cassandra. For one long tense moment they held each others gaze in a silent struggle for dominance. Somewhere in the back of his mind Cullen feared that this was the moment Cassandra would make good on her promise to relieve him of command if she deemed him unfit. Perhaps he was. Perhaps he was dooming them all.  
”Look!” One of the younger templars pointed at Solona.

  
Beyond the templars Solona was watching Cole intently, her face unreadable. Cullen couldn’t hear what Cole was saying but the roaring fireball at the tip of her staff slowly dimmed. The winds quieted and Lord Erimond was quite abruptly deposited on the ground. The silence suddenly seemed deafening. He could see Solona’s shoulders heaving as if she was breathing heavily but when she spoke her voice rang out cool and clear.  
”Seargent Gordon Blackwall!”  
”Aye,” Cullen nearly drew his sword in surprise at hearing the warden so close behind him, though he sounded as apprehensive as Cullen felt.  
”I want this man executed at dawn.” Her voice was cool and clipped, as if she hadn’t just been an inch from turning into an abomination. ”See that it’s done.”  
”… Yes warden-commander” Blackwell finally said. Cullen glanced over at him but couldn’t interpret the oddly closed look on the other man’s face. When he looked back Solona had turned on her heel and was leaving the courtyard, down the steps, leaving the unconscious form of Lord Erimond behind her.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lord Erimond is surprisingly hard to write. Not sure if I'm super happy with this chapter, but at least it's done.


	6. A prayer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long hiatus! This was incredibly hard to write for some reason, and my life sort of fell apart a tiny bit completely (yes, again). I'm too stubborn to quit though, even if I AM the slowest fanfic writer on all of AO3.
> 
> ***

“I messed it up. Maker, I messed it up so badly.” Evelyn’s voice was shaky and her eyes shone with unshed tears as she paced back and forth in front of the fireplace of her spacious apartments. Cullen had only been up there once before, when Leliana had convened an emergency meeting regarding the discovery of Solona. “I thought this was the right thing to do. With what he’d done to the wardens, to her. I…” She trailed off as she poured herself a glass of antivan red.

“You couldn’t know.” Cullen interjected, projecting as much comfort and confidence as he could. He wished that Josephine or Leliana was there but they were busy enacting damage control to turn the shocking events of the afternoon into their favour. Not that Erimond hadn’t deserved what he got, but a frightened mob who thought Solona was a crazy warden no better than the rest, or an abomination who couldn’t be controlled was not something they needed now. “You wanted to do right by her.”

“I can’t afford to make mistakes, Cullen.” She looked angry with herself, “there are too many people depending on me, on us.” She put her glass down on her desk and pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes. She was usually so poised and in control, but now she looked distraught. “I misjudged the situation, I misjudged her.” She sighed, “I just, I just thought. She’s a _hero_ , Cullen.” She said the last with such desperation and when she lowered her hands, she looked lost. “I thought… she would know what to do, what the right thing to do would be.” She shook her head and closed her eyes momentarily, taking a deep breath. She lowered her shoulders. “I need to set this right somehow.” She bit her lip uncertainly, “should I talk to her?”

There was something in her eyes he was not usually privy to, something needful and desperate. Evelyn needed Solona to be a hero because… Evelyn needed a hero. Had Solona sensed that? Had she avoided the Inquisitor and the war council because of it? Cullen remembered Solona’s eyes as she had walked out of the big hall, like dark pools of anger. “I… don’t think that’s a good idea, Inquisitor.”

“No one’s with her right now, that can’t be good,” Evelyn objected.

Perhaps it was because of how Evelyn looked, and how it reminded him of his sisters, or because he had some inkling of what Solona was going through, or maybe he wasn’t thinking at all. But whatever the reason, he said it.

“I’ll talk to her, Inquisitor.”

 

***

 

_Most people imagined demons like something tangible. A monstrous creature from your nightmares come before you to tempt you, or to smite you. That was sometimes true. A demon come into the world had a physical form that could be terrible to behold, but demons on the other side of the veil striving to reach over had no physical form to fall back on. Instead, they came to you in the form av whispers, emotions, half-seen images of the mind, no more solid than mist and just as difficult to capture or dispel. This was the reason mages were urged to such constant vigilance and why resisting a demon’s influence was so difficult. As Solona stared up at Erimond, his face twisting in pain and spite some part of her remembered this, tried to warn her, but its cries got lost in the warm flush of righteous fury, the screeches of fear, the whipping gales crying for revenge. Tantalizing half-spoken promises of how good it would feel to unleash hell on him. The power she would gain, his blood and body turned into pure energy for her consumption, she could wreck the world with her fury, make her safe from any future harm-_

_A hand that slipped into hers startled her, she almost blasted its owner out of existence. Instead she found herself meeting the eyes of its owner. Blue, oddly watery, and sad. Not human, not demon._

_“He can’t hurt you anymore. Not unless you let him.”_

 

She hadn’t picked her path consciously. She barely remembered walking at all and then she was there. Her ragged breathing tightly controlled. She could almost feel their fingers on her spine, in her mind.The tiny chapel off the side of the garden was completely dominated by a statue of Andraste, her upturned hands holding nothing, except her blessings. Invisible to the eye but supposedly overflowing for those whose hearts were pure. Or so the Chantry Mothers would tell you. Solona saw nothing in those hands anymore. Had there ever been anything, or had she changed? The silence felt blessed though.

She rubbed her eyes wearily and sank down on her knees, gazing up at Andraste’s face. She had believed once, ardently, fervently. Her faith had been rewarded, hadn’t it? She remembered coming through Haven the first time, fighting her way through a small army of dragon-worshiping cultists, but the temple… She sank back on her haunches with a sigh that verged dangerously close to a sob.

_From these emerald waters doth life begin anew... Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you. In my arms lies Eternity._

“The well of all souls.” She murmured to herself. She could still remember the perfect stillness that blanketed the temple. The peace and serenity that had let her walk through fire without a doubt of her safety. She had walked out of that temple with so much more than a cure for Arl Eamon. She had walked out with faith in her heart, the flame of Andraste. She had felt chosen, determined. Morrigan had found it all completely gross of course. Solona snorted in fond remembrance but her smile faded quickly. She had been back once, after the blight, but it had been gone. Sometimes she doubted it had been there at all. Erimonds face flickered before her eyes, pain and shock intermingling. A small bubble of blood popping on his lips, the sound unnaturally loud. And then she was back in the torture chamber again. Arms strung up above her, aching so badly it felt like they were on fire. Stretched out on a table. Those knives cutting into her, taking pieces of her, carving paths on her body. Erimond, never the one with the knife but with all the control. Pain and humiliation and thirst all blending together. Telling them to cut her and laughing. And then suddenly she was not. She was sitting on the cold stone floor, hands clenched so hard it hurt, shaking and gasping as if she had been running.

 

”I held your ashes in my hands,” She whispered desperately to the stone face looking down on her. ” _Why have you forsaken me_?”  But no answer came. The fires were silent.

She didn’t know what to do, so she clasped her hands and prayed.

 

***

 

The trouble, of course, was that Cullen had no earthly idea of where he might find Solona. A quick tour through the mage tower yielded nothing and her office was dark and empty. He was reluctant to ask anyone and contribute to the tense atmosphere around Skyhold. No one needed to know that the most powerful mage in Ferelden was currently unaccounted for. So he wandered with a measured step, made a few impromptu inspections and let himself be seen about his normal duties. Calm, inspiring confidence. The sun was beginning to set and with his mind wandering his feet carried him along familiar paths until he found himself at the small chapel by the garden. Golden beams of sunlight made ever-narrow tracks towards the far end of the gardens, creating a surprisingly regular and beautiful pattern against the ground. As perfect as it was fleeting. Cullen stopped momentarily with his hand on the door, admiring the fading light. It took a few moments before he realized that he heard something on the other side of the door, barely articulated whispers. He did not wish to disturb a private prayer unnecessarily. He stood hesitating for a moment, straining to hear the familiar words.

 

_Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him. Foul and corrupt are they_ _who have taken His gift and turned it against His children. They shall be named_ Maleficar _, accursed ones. They shall find no rest in this world or beyond…_

It took him a moment to recognize Solona’s voice, her mouth seemed to curl around the word Maleficar, spitting it out to echo and bounce within the chamber as a warning, or a judgement. Cullen suddenly felt keenly aware that he had not taken lyrium in months and that he was deliberately about to go in, alone, into a room with a mage. A mage that mere hours before had almost lost control of herself. His hand clenched hard on the door handle and his breath caught.

_My Creator, judge me whole: Find me well within Your grace. Touch me with fire that I be cleansed. Tell me I have sung to Your approval..._

He couldn’t will the fear away, but he had promised to find her, talk to her. He pushed the door open. The reddish setting sun trickled in through the large windows. For a moment he fancied he saw flames dancing in the upturned hands of Andraste. Solona sat on her knees in her shadow, head bowed. In her armor she reminded him of a soldier on a battlefield, after the battle was over and exhaustion took you.

_…In this the truth is found. Blessed are those who stand before the wicked and the corrupt and do not falter. Blessed are the peace keepers, the champions of the just-_

The prayer ended as he pushed the door open further and light fell into the room. If she hadn’t gone so abruptly silent he would’ve assumed she hadn’t noticed him.

“You’re praying.” He wasn’t sure if he meant it as a question or not. She merely shrugged, acquiescent. “Why… that prayer?” He continued tentatively.

“I grew up hearing that prayer.” She glanced back at him, hints of a sad smile on her face. “It seemed appropriate.”

“Can I come in?” He asked, hesitantly. She shrugged so he gingerly stepped inside the door, his hand tightly clenched around the door handle. “Are you alright?” He continued after a moment’s silence.

“I’m safe,” she waved one hand in weary dismissal, “I’m not going to turn into an abomination and wreck the castle.” The slight hint of dry sarcasm underneath the weary rawness of her voice was oddly reassuring.

“I know, but,“ Cullen persisted, her shoulders were slightly slumped and spoke of exhaustion. Had she eaten anything that day? Had anything to drink? “Are _you_ alright?” His armour seemed to creak unnaturally loud as he took another step into the room, letting go of the door handle. She was quiet for a moment and he wondered for a second if she had even heard him.

“What… if he was telling the truth?” her voice sounded a little raw and he started a little in response.

“Pardon?”

“What if Clarel knew,” Solona pulled a hand through her braid, it was partially coming undone from its leather cord, strands of hair curling about her face, “that I was at Adamant Fortress.”

Cullen wanted to instantly leap to reassurances, to assure her that it was impossible, but he had seen what Clarel had considered a necessary sacrifice. Instead he asked, “How well did you know her?”

“Some time after the blight I had to deliver some… bad news to the Orlesian Grey Wardens. That was the first time I met Clarel. She’d already been a warden ten years, commanded the Orlesian wardens for another ten. I ended up staying for 6 months or so. She… taught me a lot about the Grey Wardens and about being a commander. We kept in frequent correspondence.” Her lips curled in angry distaste. “I trusted her.”  

“I understand.” Better than most people ever could. Before his mind’s eye he could still see her clearly, blue eyes, blond hair and a spine of steel. “After what happened at Kinloch Hold… I wasn’t the same, but I wanted to serve. They sent me to Kirkwall.”

“You served under Meredith Stannard.” Her voice was crisply neutral. He didn’t dare meet her eyes, he wasn’t sure if he could bear looking up and seeing that all too familiar glint of fear he had seen in so many mages eyes. Or worse, loathing.

“I was her knight-captain. I trusted her, that her methods, as harsh as they were, would keep something like Kinloch Hold from happening again.” He snorted, just thinking about it made him angry, “But her fear of mages led to madness. Kirkwall’s circle fell, innocent people died in the streets. When I tried to reason with her she tried to kill me and Hawke.” He rubbed the scar that ran across his lip. She had very nearly succeeded.

“And what did you do after that?” _What do you do when your leaders betray you?_ He could hear the unasked part of that question, or thought he could.

“I left.” It came out a bit harsher than intended, “I left the templars, and joined the Inquisition. I hope we can put to rights some of the things we did wrong.”

 

Daylight had all but disappeared as they talked and dark blue shadows had slowly overtaken the chapel. It would be pitch dark soon. She looked thoughtful in the fading light. Tired, less troubled he hoped.

“I can’t leave the Wardens.” She finally said, sounding weary.

“Perhaps not.” He conceded, “but you did join the Inquisition.”

That got an actual chuckle out of her and he couldn’t help but smile. He hadn’t heard her laugh for a long time. “It’s getting dark,” He stood up and stretched out his hand, helping her up. She grimaced as she got up, her legs no doubt sore after hours on the cold stone floor.

“Oh, that explains it.” She said. He turned quizzically towards her, the half-open door only improving the light marginally. “You stopped taking lyrium.”

“I, yes.” He confirmed, befuddled and a bit wary. “How did you know?”

“You smell different, I couldn’t figure out why.” Something in his eyes must’ve shown he he felt because he could swear that, despite the darkness, she blushed. “Lyrium has a particular scent, it’s sharp. I thought it might just because there are fewer Templars around and…” she trailed off with a cough. “It’s not really important. Thanks for coming by to check on me.” Her hand landed briefly on his shoulder before she turned and left. He was sure he could feel it right through his pauldron, tingling as she walked away.


	7. From one hero to another

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hai! Don't mind me. I'm just updating a work I haven't touched in a year. I blame Alan.

The list in front of her was long, to the tune of multiple pages. She had to give credit to Cullen and his people. The tally of losses at Adamant was as complete as anyone could make it. When it first arrived on her desk she’d been afraid of opening it, afraid of seeing it spelling out the destruction of a life’s work.

Instead, she had questions. She picked up the first page again, briefly scanning down the list of names. _Adeline… Alphonse… Calixte…_ hundreds of them. All Orlesian. She leaned back in her chair drumming her fingers against the tabletop nervously. She had been over the list dozens of time, searching for familiar names, familiar faces. Her own recruits, her own friends. When Nathaniel, Anders, Sigrun, Velanna and Ohgren failed to materialise she had been relieved at first, then suspicious. None of her former friends, or any of the dozens of recruits she had brought into the wardens, taught and mentored were on that list. She picked the list up, flipping through the pages but not really seeing them, before putting it down again. Where were the Ferelden wardens? She chewed her lip in frustration, staring unseeing through the wall towards the small courtyard that separated her tower from the Commander’s. She’d written to her field command out in the western approach to find out if there were any Ferelden wardens out in the approach or if they had been at Adamant at all, but she had yet to receive a response. Through the open door she could hear the sound of people talking and working, carried by the breeze along the smell of horses, leather, metal and sweat. It reminded her of Cullen, except with him there was something else there too, something floral perhaps, he had to be putting something in his hair to keep it like that. Back at Kinloch Hold it had been so curly… Solona flopped backwards in her chair with a thud and a tsk of frustration. Ever since their meeting in the chapel her thoughts kept straying to him, and to that meeting. “Why did I talk about how he smells.” She muttered into her hands, exasperated, “who does that?” No one, perhaps fortuitously, answered her question.

“Settling in all right?” Solona looked up from the list on her table to find the Inquisitor leaning on her door frame. It had been almost a month since her own arrival and she’d half-expected a visit. Though considering what had happened with Lord Erimond she felt less sure about the nature of that visit. Still, Evelyn looked friendly enough.

“Quite well,” she put the list aside. “Your staff have been most helpful and efficient, it’s quite impressive.”

Evelyn smiled and gestured for her to join her. They walked across the upper courtyard in silence and leaned on the inner battlements. Below them Commander Cullen was putting some of the soldiers through their paces. Most of them had shed armour - and shirts for that matter - in the rare midday heat. Even the Commander had left off the furs.

“I think every time I see him train with the soldiers I see fresh faces,” Evelyn commented, “He must be hard to please.”

“A third of the Skyhold guard is rotated on a bi-weekly basis. He picks five of the new soldiers every day and trains with them for an hour before lunch.” Solona shaded her eyes against the sun, “he gets a sense of how your troops are doing and the soldiers know that the commander is personally invested in them.” Solona glanced over to find Evelyn quirking an eyebrow at her.

“You’re very observant.”

“I cannot be part of the Inqusition unless I understand how it works.” Solona commented neutrally, ignoring the implied question.

“I suppose not.”

There was a short silence between them as they observed the soldiers below them. Last time she had seen the commander he had still had that thin, narrow look about him, like he’d grown faster than his body could manage. She could see the muscles moving on his back as he blocked an incoming blow. He had filled out rather well since then. 

“I wanted to ask you something.” Evelyn finally said.  
“I am at your disposal.”  
“How did you defeat it?” Evelyn’s voice held a hint of wonder, as if what she’d done was impossible. And then, betraying barely a hint of tremor, “how do you handle it?”

Solona turned and looked carefully at her. To every person in Skyhold she was the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste. A living, breathing icon of the Maker. And that was “it”. And she was also a young woman, never trained for or expected to take the role of leadership and far away from anyone who had known her when she was still merely Evelyn Trevelyan. Before she became more than just a person. She thought of Leliana, claiming that the maker had come to her in a vision urging her to follow her and Alistair. She remembered the Temple of Sacred Ashes and the single pinch of Andraste caught between her fingers. The lightest and the weightiest substance in the world. She remembered Flemeth’s words to her. She knew the weight, especially how it had followed her afterwards. She tackled the easy question first.

“Ballistas and dwarves with good axes will kill almost anything. I do not recommend urban combat if you can avoid it.” She added the last with a hint of dark humour. She often returned to Denerim in her dreams. She opened her mouth and then hesitated, unsure of how to proceed.

“They think I’m a hero.” Evelyn filled the silence, staring down at the soldiers in the courtyard. “They think I was chosen by Andraste but I know what I saw in the Fade and I’m just… I’m just a person. I was just lucky.”

“And your advisors are keen to maintain this image of you.” Solona commented. She knew Leliana well enough to hazard as much, and expected as much from a talented diplomat as Josephine. Cullen... she had no clue, she realized.

Evelyn nodded.

“When I was recruited we headed straight for Ostagar. We had no idea that everything would go so wrong. Me and Alistair risked everything to get to the top of the tower and light the beacon.” Solona could still remember the rain, the water turning into mist on top of the mass of heated bodies on the battle-field, carrying the smell of blood, entrails and fear with it. “We were overwhelmed by Darkspawn. We should have died at Ostagar alongside everyone else.”

She glanced over and found that she had Evelyn’s rapt attention.

“How did you escape?”

“We didn’t. We were saved.” She chuckled. “A powerful apostate lives in the Korcari wilds. She turned into a giant eagle and plucked us from the tower and flew us to safety.”

“Flemeth.”

“She is no god.” Solona shrugged, “Regardless, we were chosen. It doesn’t always matter by whom, or how.”

“Did you ever doubt?”

“Constantly.”

“Do you have any regrets?”

  
She remembered a small village full of refugees soon swallowed up by the blight, before everyone could make their escape. She thought of Jowan. She thought of Alistair. _I can’t regret that. I had to do that. Ferelden needed a king._  
“You’re always going to wonder if you made the right decision.” Solona said after a moment. She glanced over to the Inquisitor, who was staring down at the courtyard with a troubled expression. Solona shook her head and tried to remember what it had been like to be in those shoes. What had she needed to hear, in retrospect? “Look,” she finally said. “everyone is going to have an opinion or an idea of what you are or who, or why you’re here and what you should do. You have to figure out what you want.”

“For myself?”

“And the world.”

Evelyn was quiet for a while. “That’s quite an undertaking.”

“It is.” Solona agreed with a sigh.

“You’re not very good at pep talks, are you?” Solona glanced over but Evelyn was smiling. Solona smiled back, tentatively.

“I tended to try and leave those to Alistair.” She paused, considering “you might try and outsource to Varric, he seems cheerful.” That earned her a laugh.

A solider approached them with a missive in hand and a look of apprehensive determination on his face. Solona suspected that approaching any one of them was hard enough, the two of them together? She made things easier for the solider and bid the Inquisitor farewell. She cast a last glance down at the courtyard where the soldiers were packing the practice weapons together and her own words came unbidden back to her. _You have to figure out what you want._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Hope everyone liked that. I know it's not very exciting considering how long it's been since I worked on this fanfic. One of the reasons I dropped it was that I was really anxious to make everything about it perfect, which really cramped my creativity and getting things moving. So, this isn't my main work right now (I'm also working on a Ignoct fic that is being updated regularly) but I hope that I can cut myself some slack and get this going again and just post stuff because this is still on my mind and I'd really like to finish it. 
> 
> Anyway, comments are always welcome! Let me know what you think. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you have any questions, just ask in the comments.


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